


Liberation

by snasational



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Crosstale Sans (Undertale), Dreamtale Nightmare Sans - Freeform, Dusttale Sans (Undertale), Gen, Horrortale Sans (Undertale), Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Killer Sans (Undertale) - Freeform, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28956234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snasational/pseuds/snasational
Summary: Five times Cross hurts himself and the one time he doesn't need to.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 152





	Liberation

**Author's Note:**

> Hi i stayed up until 8 am to write this 
> 
> @esqers made a thread on twitter about the bad sanses that got my muses flowing he's awesome
> 
> sorry if some of this is incomprehensible i'm so tired hahah
> 
> Most of the self-harm comes in unconventional forms. Which was fun to write lols

**_l._ **

Cross does not belong here. 

These people are rough, and cruel. They wish to do nothing more than see others suffer. Pain is what they strive for. It is their ultimate goal in life, to invoke as much of it as they possibly can. They’re evil.

And Cross isn’t any better than Killer or Dust, the very ones who killed their own kind in cold blood just as he had done. And Cross isn’t any better than Horror or Error, who turned their victimhood of circumstance into bitterness and hatred. And most of all, Cross isn’t any better than Nightmare, who basks in negativity and refuses to let life into his life. 

And yet…

He does not belong. 

Cross had never wanted to hurt anyone in the first place. He just wanted to go back home. He wanted to eat pie with the royal family again, he wanted to sit at the table and listen to Papyrus babble to their father about anything and everything, he wanted Alphys to pretend she wasn’t fawning over Undyne, he wanted so, _so_ much. He even wanted Frisk back, who smiled bigger than life itself. And even if that came with Chara, at least it would be _home._

What he got instead was a pile of mistakes and an even larger pile of bodies. He was homeless and purposeless. 

Nightmare had seen this, and had forgiven his previous betrayal. He had led him to this universe, where other Sanses just as outcast as him came to serve under Nightmare’s rule. And at first, it had felt...alright. Like he was going to be okay. Here, he had a chance to slowly rebuild himself back up.

He would never be the same, of course. Gone were days spent protecting Frisk and eating ice cream underneath a beautiful blue sky. He would never feel at peace again like he did back then. But he was hoping Nightmare’s gang could give him purpose again, like he did when he was training for the royal guard. 

Instead he feels just as lonely as he did before, in this ginormous castle with nobody willing to keep him company. Everyone here is anti-social by nature, and they only ever come out of their hiding if Nightmare needs them. Which is fine. They are not obligated to speak with Cross, and regardless their brutish way of speaking and doing things sort of turns him away from the prospect. 

He had never been truly alone, though. He always had someone, even in the white abyss of nothing. 

His thoughts are starting to drown him. He needs a walk. Perhaps it’ll give him a chance to clear his head and look at things from a positive perspective. Like, hey! At least you’re not homeless anymore. 

He takes a few turns, and then somehow winds up in the kitchen. This is basically Horror’s hiding spot, even if it’s a place open to the public. Something is _always_ being made here, and tonight is no different. Horror sits on top of the counter, idly kicking his feet as something is baking in the oven. 

He pauses at the sight of Cross, who freezes like a deer caught in headlights. There’s an awkward silence; Cross never knows what to say to Horror. Everytime he looks at that crack in his skull all he can feel is pity. 

“...Smells good in here.” He mumbles sheepishly. 

Horror blinks slowly before nodding. “...Mm. Ready...soon.” 

“Oh. That’s cool. Well, I’ll let you at it my dude. Gotta go back to doing...um. Stuff.” The prospect of dinner isn’t alluring to him. Cross doesn’t like eating anymore. He’s not sure why, but there’s something grounding about the way he aches when there’s nothing but water and chocolate fueling him. 

“Not...hungry?”

“Nah. Nothing personal, I ate earlier.” A fun-size Hershey’s bar. But it counts. To him, at least. 

Horror frowns. “You,” His brow bones furrow together as he attempts to string together sentences. “Never eat. Your plate...always full. Have to give to others.”

Has Horror been making plates for him? Something strange makes his chest constrict. “I’m a picky eater. Don’t worry, I get plenty to eat.”

He narrows his singular eye. The color is kind of freaky, it makes him look a whole lot more intimidating than he already is. “Never eat.” He repeats firmly. “Need food. Not...healthy. Will get sick.”

He supposes Horror would know all about what it’s like to starve. Cross guiltily waves him off and ignores the pang of hunger that's being sent throughout his body. “Seriously dude, I’m perfectly fine in the food department. Thanks for uh...caring, though.”

And then he turns his heel and walks out before Horror can say anything else. The big guy watches helplessly as he leaves.

**_II._ **

His body is begging him to sleep. But he just _can’t_. 

Every time he sleeps he dreams of painful things. He would rather stay awake, where it’s easier to block out memories he wants to forget. There’s no point of even going to sleep if he can’t rest, so in order to keep his mind running he walks. It’s become a habit of sorts, taking late night strolls and pretending that he’d only just woken up when morning hits. 

Tonight, a rare occurrence happens. He runs into Error. The guy _never_ visits Nightmare’s castle unless business needs to be conducted, so seeing him wonder about the hallways is strange and a bit unwelcomed. He didn’t forget how Error ripped his and Chara’s soul out of his chest so cruelly, spouting awful words as he did so. 

“What are you doing here?” Cross asks in an accusing manner. 

Error scoffs. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m looking for Nightmare.”

Ah, so it is business related. Good, that just means Error will leave sooner and Cross can untense. His entire presence puts him on guard. 

“Good for you.” The lack of sleep paired with the lack of food makes him snappy and irritable. Error sneers at him. 

“You asked _me,_ abomination. You look like shit, by the way.”

Cross crosses his arms defensively. “And you look like a bad coding job.”

Error scoffs. “Sleep deprivation turns you into a bitch. Go to sleep, I can only imagine the annoyance you cause the others.”

“I don’t need any sleep. And I don’t need snide comments from the likes of you, either.”

Error rolls his eyes. “Suit yourself.”

Cross stomps away, irritated. First he steals his soul and then he criticizes his appearance. On top of that, he called him a bitch! Cross has some choice words for this bastard and none of them are flattering. What an absolute dick. 

He misses the way Error takes on a contemplative look. 

Suspiciously, the following morning Cross takes a sip of water and promptly passes out. When he wakes up, he’s tucked into his rarely used bed. Cross chalks it up to his exhaustion finally getting the best of himself and prepares himself for another week spent awake. 

**_III._ **

They’re in an Underfell timeline when he gets separated from Nightmare. Cross hates this place. He always feels guilty whenever they have to come here, even if this place technically isn’t the same as the one he destroyed. And on top of that, the vibes of these kinds of places are always...off. 

It makes him uneasy. Stars only know what kind of suffering these monsters endure because of greed and power hungry assholes. It reminds him of the slums on the surface. Humans that live there have a tendency to either be desperate or evil. Nine out of ten times, those are the sort of folks that used to try and kill Frisk.

He stumbles upon Gerson, who looks half-dead. Cross hasn’t personally seen his Gerson since he was a child, but from what he heard the old turtle had moved to Hawaii. Seeing a twitching, sputtering version of him is enough to freak Cross out.

“You look spooked, Sans!” The old man cackles. “Hehe! You ain’t looked at me like that since you was a bittybones. Come now, did you want the usual?” 

Cross blinks and pushes down the raising anxiety. “The usual?”

Gerson looks at him like he grew two heads. “Your medication, my boy. I’ve got the good stuff in from a place in the core. Real neat junk, hehe.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Drugs. He’s talking about drugs. Cross had never once considered doing them before. The effects are detrimental, and it’s a whole lot of suffering just for a little bit of a high. But...well. Isn’t Cross already suffering? Curiosity replaces his trepidation. Just once, he could try it. After all, what did Cross have to lose? 

“How much?”

“Eh! Judging from the way you is talking and dressed up all funny, I’m figuring you had yourself a rough day. Hows about half off! 25g for three shrooms. And no worries, Captain Papyrus won’t hear a peep from me.” Gerson winks at him. 

Cross digs into his pocket and pulls out the required money. He’s glad Nightmare gives them an allowance. He never spends it, so the coins have racked up by this point. Gerson then puts a baggie in his hand. Cross thanks him for his business awkwardly before rushing away. He needs to get as far away from this dude as possible. 

Once he’s absolutely sure he’s alone, he looks at the bag. The shrooms are a bit small, and they glow a soft blue. They’re sort of pretty. With shaking hands, he pries open the bag and shoves them all in his mouth. The taste is peculiar and earthy, but overall it isn’t bad. 

He feels alright at first. There’s nothing but him and the echo flowers, and the atmosphere is actually kind of peaceful. This whole experiment seems like a big let down, if Cross is being honest. 

“Hey buddy.” Frisk says out of nowhere. “It’s been awhile.”

Cross giggles. His entire body is light, and his head is submerged in a fuzzy static. “Hey dude. It has, hasn’t it?” In front of him, a flower trunks various shades of yellow and red. They all start blending together like that, swirling around in his vision and making pretty shapes.

“What have you been up to?” Frisk asks. Cross wonders where he’s at; he can hear his voice but he can’t see his face anywhere. In fact, all he can see are these strange patterns. It’s fun to look at. 

“Uh...not a lot. I don’t eat and sleep anymore.” He blurts out. 

“Oh? Why?”

Cross shrugs. “I don’t know.” 

“You should probably find your friends!” Papyrus pipes up. Cross looks around but he can’t find him. “They are most likely worried sick about you, brother.”

“Doubt it.” Those guys don’t care about him. They probably wouldn’t blink an eye if he were to drop dead. 

“Do not be so negative! It is why you’re in this situation in the first place!” 

Where is he again? Cross forgot. “Sorry. Call dad for me, will you? I think I’m sick.” 

“Sick?” Dust asks. He’s suddenly crouched in front of Cross, a blank expression on his face. “Who are you talking to?”

“Papyrus. And Frisk.”

Dust’s eyelights narrow in displeasure. “...Did you take something, Cross?”

Cross nods. His eyes focus on the fairy dancing around Dust’s head. It’s kind of funny, so he laughs. “My medication!” He parrots what Gerson called it. 

“We need to take you home.”

“Okay. Come on Papy, we’re going home.”

But nobody responded. Cross frowns. That’s okay, he’ll just talk to Papyrus at breakfast tomorrow. He wonders if Alphys will make something other than oatmeal. He’s getting real sick and tired of oatmeal. But dad likes it, and of course since dad likes it she’s going to make nothing but oatmeal for the next hundred years. 

God, he’s so hungry. It feels like he hasn’t eaten in years. 

“Tell Alphys not to make oatmeal.” He requests. Dust says nothing as he lifts him off the ground. “Her oatmeal sucks. She puts coffee beans in it.”  
  


“Go to sleep or something.”

But Cross doesn’t like sleeping. He can’t remember why. Actually, sleeping sounds great. He needs it for training in the morning. Undyne is always a bitch in the mornings. If you don’t get enough sleep she’s liable to give you the worst headache in the world. Still, Undyne is a pretty awesome dude. He can’t wait to show her how much he’s improved his melee attacks. 

There are some voices, and more colors. Various shades of black and blue and white. They lull him into a deep rest. 

_**IV.** _

“You pissed Nightmare off.” Killer snickers. 

He’s sitting on Cross’ desk, watching with amusement as Cross continues to write lines over and over again. This wasn’t a punishment issued by Nightmare. He gave it to himself after fucking up so bad last night. 

Cross sighs. His room is supposed to be his sanctuary and now it’s being invaded by the likes of Killer. He thinks he likes it better when everyone is being anti-social. 

“Seriously, I haven’t seen him this heated in a while.”

_I will not take drugs from strangers ever again._ He writes for the six hundredth time. His fingers went numb about two hours ago, but he won’t stop until he reaches two thousand. He’d get there a whole lot faster if Killer wasn’t here to annoy him. 

“Lucky me.” Cross mumbles. 

“Right? And that chewing out he gave you was _legendary_.” It really wasn’t. Cross would rather sit through one of his father’s lectures than deal with an angered Nightmare. “I think that was punishment enough, you know.”

Cross makes a noncommittal noise in response. _I will not take drugs from strangers ever again,_ he writes once more. This page is almost completely full. 

“So, like, why are you writing lines? It’s kind of pathetic watching you do this.” 

“Then don’t watch.” Cross snaps back.

Killer tsks and shakes his head. “I’m just saying. Kind of unnecessary.”

“Your face is kind of unnecessary.” 

Killer snorts. “We have the same face, smartass.”

No, not really. Cross has a scar and Killer’s eyes leak black like an emo chick’s runny eyeliner. Which, to Cross, really is kind of unnecessary. Why does his face leak goop like that? That’s two out of six members who have a weird goop thing going onfor them. But Cross figures it would be rude to ask, so he doesn’t. 

He writes another line. 

“Barely.”

Killer sighs dramatically. “Whatever, Mister Masochist.”

And if that isn’t the truest thing to ever come from Killer’s stupid mouth. 

_**V.** _

It starts off small and inconsequential. Just a little paper cut on his thumb. 

But Cross stares at it long and hard. A small cut so insignificant means absolutely nothing. He should stop pressing on it and leave it alone, or else he risks getting it infected. How mortifying, to have to dig out the first aid kit because of such a small wound. But for some reason, he can’t stop messing with it.

So when it heals, he makes another one. 

And when that one heals, he puts another one on his radius. And then on his ulna. And then when he somehow runs out of room on the two of those, he moves on to his next arm. Small cuts. Nothing too deep. Just grazes on the bone, really. But it’s enough to give him a satisfying sting. 

It’s even more grounding than the hunger. It helps him stay awake. And on top of that, in the moments where he’s hurting, he forgets all about his mental turmoil. So if you asked Cross, everything is going great. He’s still lonely, and he’s still fucked up, but at least he finally has an outlet that works. 

Tonight he needs another session. Just a few more nicks on his left arm’s radius and that too will be completely covered up. He tosses his jacket in a corner, sits on his bed, summons a knife, and sets right to work. He needs this to feel alive, after all, so he can’t waste any time lollygagging. 

One gash and he can breathe again.

Another gash and he feels light as a feather. 

By the third one he’s entered a state of euphoria. A high brought to him from the repetitive but reliable sting of a blade carving into bone. Cross closes his eyes and relishes in it. Nothing can compare to this. 

He’s so lost in raw feeling that he doesn't notice his door open. A cyan eye watches him for a moment before silently closing the door again. Cross remains none the wiser. Tonight, and for the rest of eternity, he will bask in pain.

It’s what a monster like him deserves.

**_+1_ **

Nightmare forces him to eat breakfast. 

Cross has no idea where the sudden demands are stimming from, but he’s been just fine for months before. One or two actual meals a week and then nothing but water and chocolate for the rest. Nobody has ever said anything about it except for Horror that one time. 

“Horror made this just for you.” Nightmare hisses. “You’re going to eat it. Every last bite.”

And because it’s Nightmare, Cross obeys without a complaint. 

The following evening, Nightmare forces him to go to bed. 

“Starting today you’re going to bed at 10pm every night.” Nightmare tells him. “You’re fucked up sleeping schedule is abhorrent.” 

He sits at his bedside, crosses his arms, and waits patiently to make sure Cross is actually going to sleep and not just pretending to get him off of his back. Again, this is another thing that was perfectly fine beforehand. Not a single person had commented on Cross’ lack of sleep. It hasn’t affected the jobs he’s been given either, so it doesn’t matter. 

Nightmare doing this also means that he can’t summon his knife. That’s alright, he’ll just do it during the day. 

But all of a sudden, there’s always someone at his side. Horror brings him snacks, which go uneaten until Nightmare basically shoves it down his throat. Dust offers silent companionship, his presence always right at his back whenever Cross does anything. And Killer might just be the worst of them all. His commentary is incessant and non stop.

Nightmare issues a new rule. Everyone has to eat at the dinner table together. Cross realizes pretty soon that this is targeted towards him and no one else. 

It’s...strange. 

This is making him feel strange. 

“Why are you doing this?” Cross asks, two weeks into their new routine. He’s laying in his bed, trying and failing to fall asleep. His body simply isn’t used to having a regular schedule, after all. Nightmare gives him an unimpressed look. 

“You’re not going to self-destruct under my care.” 

“I wasn’t-”

“Since when is cutting considered not to be self-destructive?” Nightmare asks callously. Cross freezes, and the other skeleton’s grin takes on an edge. “Oh? You thought I didn’t know about that?”

Cross closes his eyes. “Is that why I’m never alone anymore?” 

“Obviously. You’re not going to get away with that under my roof. It’s absolutely forbidden, do you understand?”

Stars, the resemblance he’s having to his father right now is uncanny. “Why do you even care?” 

“Because you’re _mine_. All of you are. And what is mine deserves to be treated as such.” 

Oh. Cross blushes bright purple. Nightmare smirks at this. “We’ll discuss your recent behaviour tomorrow, when you’ve rested. As a group. Believe it or not, you're not the only one affected by the decisions you make anymore.” 

Cross would rather not discuss anything. Despite this, warmth fills his chest. For the first time in a long, long while, he feels cared about. And even though it’s not enough to make the hurt stop, it’s enough to make it bearable. Even just for a moment. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> twitter is @ snasational


End file.
